The Case of Prisoner 847
by Kete.Hlin
Summary: Hermione Granger has been studying Wizard law since she graduated Hogwarts and has made it her mission to fix as many problems as she can. One of these is the mistreatment of prisoner 847, former classmate Draco Malfoy, who was sentenced to five years in Azkaban after the war for his crimes as a Death Eater. Rated M for later chapters and eventual Dramione.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Miss Granger I need you to calm down."

"I am perfectly amicable," Hermione huffed, the stray strands around her face bobbing free of the bun at the back of her head. "It's you that's making the fuss."

"Now, now, what's all this?" A tall man interrupted the two squabbling lawyers.

"Ah good, Mr. Trist, I'm here upon my summons to oversee prisoner eight-four-seven,"

The irritating man in front of Hermione spoke. She had been trying to talk sense into him for the last ten minutes without any luck whatsoever. Truthfully, she wanted to strangle his overly large and pompous neck.

"And you are?"

"Pierce Kroms, sir. Here is the letter I received from the minister himself." Kroms handed Trist a neatly folded up piece of parchment. After perusing it Trist gave it back.

"And what, pray tell, are you doing here?" Trist turned to Hermione.

"Sir, I have formally requested, several times, that prisoner eight-four-seven be switched to my care, both via correspondence and personal meetings."

"What makes you qualified to take that responsibility miss-?"

"Granger," Hermione said irritably. "I have extensive knowledge about prisoner eight-four-seven and have tried, practically in vain, to contact you and others in charge of my interest in taking his case." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, heat spread throughout her body in rage and embarrassment.

Both men towered over her and seemed to look down their nose at her. _Silly girl_ , she could practically see them think. She would not let them trample over her, this was her case, this was her client! Or at least, he was going to be. Determined she straightened her shoulders and looked Trist straight in the eye.

"I am not leaving here until I am at least considered. The ministry has handed prisoner eight-four-seven a standard ministry lawyer without letting him have any say in who speaks his case. I feel he deserves more than that."

Trist raised a classy eyebrow. "Do you?" His tone was haughty and Hermione realised that she should have worded that better around them. "Well, the _criminal_ hardly deserves much of anything except what he has coming to him. But the ministry has been lenient so far and has allowed him a lawyer. Why on earth would you wish to take his case?"

Hermione pursed her lips, she wanted to punch the man. "Because it is my job."

"Ah, but alas miss Granger, you are mistaken," Kroms piped in. "It is _my_ job."

Scratch that, Hermione wanted to punch both of them.

"Excuse me?" This time a boy, or what looked like an intern at least, his face completely covered in zits that Hermione could hardly hold back her pity for him. "Mr Trist? He's in the holding room, sir, the guard just finished cuffing him."

"Thank you," Trist dismissed the boy and waved for Kroms to follow. They both walked off but Hermione was not finished.

"Mr. Trist you can't possibly ignore me in this way. I am professionally more capable and much better suited to take on this case."

"Miss Gringer I advise you to leave now, this is none of your business and I will soon not hesitate to call security."

"It's Granger," Hermione seethed through her teeth. "And you don't seem to comprehend the severity of what you're doing. Four other cases such as these have been handled by ministry given officials and all four of them were sentenced in favour of the ministry. Two of those resulted in the _kiss_. I plead with you now,"

They had all stopped by a door marked with the letter 2, Trists' hand on the doorknob already. "Miss please-"

"No!" Hermione slashed her hand with finality through the air just as Trist opened the door just a smidge. "This man's life is at stake and I am capable of saving it. I sincerely doubt that Mr. Kroms here can say the same."

Trist hesitated looking at her with an almost bored expression. Glancing up and behind her he said: "Tilly, please call security and get them to escort Miss Granger out as she has no business being here."

"You can't just-"

"Let her in."

They all jumped. The sound had come from the other side of door number 2. The voice was ragged, almost cracked. Like you'd sound after two weeks of sore throat or smoking six packs of cigarettes. The three of them stood stock still, not daring to move or even breathe. They simply stared.

"Let her in." The voice said again, this time firmer than before.

Hermione came to her senses first, throwing her shoulders back and keeping her head high, sneering down her nose at the two men as she went past them into the room.

Malfoy sat on one of three chairs in the room, his hands were chained to a steel ring fastened on the table. His appearance was… disheartening, to say the least for Hermione. Five years in Azkaban had worn away at his body. His cheeks were hollowed in and his bones protruding anywhere they could. The prison uniform seemed two sizes too big and Hermione could hardly imagine how much weight he had lost in the past five years.

"Is that necessary?" Hermione asked Trist, gesturing to the chains on the table as he took to one of chairs. Kroms followed them inside, looking at her with a sneer. Neither he nor Hermione took the last free chair.

"Yes," Trist said simply. "Mr. Malfoy," Trist continued, ignoring Hermione. "This is your assigned Lawyer, Pierce Kroms." Trist gestured to him.

Malfoy looked to Kroms, his face placid. As Hermione watched him she realised that she would rather have wanted to see the familiar scorn in his eyes, or any kind of feeling at all instead of the glazed way he stared as if he weren't all there. There was a pregnant pause as Malfoy observed Kroms before he turned back to Trist.

"I don't want him."

"Excuse me?" Trist's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "He's all you're getting. Don't forget Mr. Malfoy that the ministry is doing you a favour by providing you with-"

"I realise, _Mr. Trist_ ," Malfoy said his name as if it were poison on his lips, practically spitting it over his dry, cracked lips. "But I would rather have miss Granger as my lawyer."

Now it was Hermione's turn to be surprised. She really hadn't expected Malfoy to want her to be his lawyer. Actually she had expected him to sneer at her and tell her to keep her mudblood nose out of his business.

"Mr. Malfoy, please try and be reasonable," Kroms shot in. "If this is a matter of experience I can fetch my-"

Malfoy held up his hand to stop him, the chains clinking at the movement. "It's not, Mr. Kroms. I can assure you that it is only a matter of preference."

Hermione cleared her throat, feeling like Malfoy's own cracked and dry voice was somehow transfering onto her. "By law Mr. Malfoy is allowed to have a lawyer of his own choosing, as I'm sure you are aware of Mr. Trist."

Trist's mouth formed a tight line on his face and he glared daggers at her. "I'm aware."

"Then you should also be aware of the fact that Mr. Malfoy has now verbalised his displeasure of his given lawyer _and_ mentioned another that he wishes to take his case." Hermione could hardly keep herself from gloating.

Trist's face was gradually turning red, as if he were about to boil over from anger. His gaze snapped to Kroms. "I believe your services are no longer needed Mr. Kroms. I must ask you to leave the premises."

Kroms jaw dropped. "But… you… he… she…" He pursed his lips, levelled another glare at Hermione before turning around, leaving and slamming the door in his wake.

Hermione slipped into the chair beside Trist, sitting opposite Malfoy who still hadn't looked at her. She put her binder on the table, straightening the files within.

"Mr. Malfoy," Trist began, reciting a speech he most likely knew by heart. "After having finished your initial five year penance in Azkaban prison for your crimes, you are eligible for probation. Your hearing will take place on September 1st, 10am sharp, ten weeks from now."

Malfoy's gaze was on his bound wrists while Trist spoke and Hermione felt inclined to stare at them as well. His hands were dirty, grime stuck under his nails, and they looked uncomfortably dry. Hermione's gaze moved up to his face which was now framed by his hair, reminding her of Professor Snape. It was no longer groomed but lay slack and unkempt, many strands were stuck together, almost forming small dreadlocks here and there. Hermione wondered how long it had been since he showered or ate properly.

"Do you have any questions?"

Malfoy shook his head.

"Splendid." Trist turned to her. "You have fifteen minutes to talk with your client before he is escorted back to his cell in Azkaban." Trist stood and left the room.

Uncomfortable, yes, that's how Hermione felt. Trying to hide her nerves by straightening out the pages sticking out here and there from her binder. Where to begin? Well, looking at him might be an alright start, you could do it earlier. But then he wasn't as likely to look back. Buck up, Hermione.

"So," Hermione said. "Thank you for picking me to be your lawyer, I've been trying-"

"Granger," Malfoy said, stopping her before she could go on a full-on rant. "I only picked you to piss of Trist. That bloody wanker has had it out for me since I got here and payback felt good. Perhaps a bit petty, but a good slap in the face more than I can usually do."

"Oh." Hermione deflated. "But I'm still here to work on your case, and as such-"

"What case? Granger, as I'm sure you're aware, I am a lost cause. I know it, Trist knows it, the Ministry knows it. They gave me a five-year-sentence and hoped I would die. Now that I haven't they'll just give me the _kiss_ and be done with it. So, why bother?"

"Why… why bother?" Hermione felt the ire rise from her stomach up to her throat. "B-b-because!"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, which was slightly reassuring although irritating. At least he was showing emotion. "How very articulate of you, Granger."

"I am trying to save your life!"

"And I'm telling you it's a waste of time."

"How can you say that? How can you say your life isn't worth saving?"

"Because it isn't."

"Of course it is," Hermione said, standing from her chair, needing to pace. "Every life is worth saving. And there are many ways to look at this. You were young when you were brought in to the Death Eaters, manipulated, steered in the wrong direaction. You didn't mean to, I mean, you were coerced. You didn't do anything incriminating."

Malfoy stared at her with hard eyes, his fists clenched together in their binds.

"You've already served your sentence, you've payed enough for your crimes-"

"How would you know?" His tone was dark and low, menacing. "What do you know of my 'crimes', Granger?"

"Well I-I, I read your file and the transcripts of your past hearings…"

"Ah so you read a little text on a piece of paper, how very thoughtful of you. But let me fill you in on the things not written in that file." Malfoy slowly rose from his chair, his hands staying by the table, held down by the chains. He leaned forward and Hermione sat back down in her chair, trying not to show her fear. "I am a criminal. I am a murderer and I am a Death Eater."

Hermione shook her head, ready with the speech she had been thinking of for the past two years.

"To those people I am those things and nothing else. I am scum. I am dirt." His mouth twitched into a terrifing smirk, devoid of feeling. "Ironic, isn't it? That I would call you mudblood through our schoolyears and now my family line, the pure blood that runs through my veins, is looked at in that light. No, Granger. I am not worth saving because it is a losing battle. The cards are stacked against me. The system is rigged. So I will get the _kiss_ , my soul will be sucked out of my body and there will be no one there to mourn my passing. No grieving figure standing above my grave as they hurl me into the welcoming abyss."

Hermione swalloed. "It's not like that, I can-"

"You can do NOTHING!" Malfoy yelled at her. "Not your bossy tone or your insipid books can help you now because I am not Weasley or Potter," he said, spitting the names out like venom. "I am not someone to be saved, I am not someone that can be saved. So piss off."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"It didn't go well," Hermione said, holding a cup of tea with both hands to warm them.

Harry chuckled. "What did you expect? It's Malfoy."

"I know. Honestly, I didn't think I'd get it today in any case. I mean I've been pestering them about this for almost three years without any response."

"Literally giving you the run-around," Harry said with a nod.

"Figuratively."

"Or that." Harry smiled. "So, what are you going to do now?"

"Be better prepared next time?"

"You're seriously going back there? After he yelled at you?"

"Okay sure," Hermione said. "He did yell at me, and told me he didn't care either way and told me to piss off… But he never called me mudblood, only a vague reference to the past. He looked me in the eye when ranting over me, and he genuinely looked like he was trying to convince me to stop."

"And because of that you're not going to."

"Exactly. You don't tell Hermione Granger what to do." Hermione straightened her back and sipped her cup of tea.

"What if he doesn't want your stubborn help? Don't get me wrong Hermione, I love how determined you are, we all do. But Malfoy… maybe he is a lost cause. Especially since he's given up himself."

"He's spent five years in Azkaban, that would kill anyone's spirit…" Harry gave her a look. "I know what you mean Harry, but there's no one fighting for him. He may have been misguided but never evil. He doesn't deserve to be treated so horrifically. It's prejudice and I won't sit idly by and let it happen."

Harry shrugged and finished his cup of tea. "Did you get Ron's owl?"

"I did," Hermione said stiffly, taking a prolonged sip of her tea,

"You can't ignore him forever. This is taxing on me too you know."

"I know Harry, but it's not really about you, now is it?" Hermione stroked circles on the hard-wooden table. "I'm not ready to talk to him yet. I'm just not sure I can open that door again."

"Alright," Harry said, standing from the table. "I should get going."

"Did you send in your application to Hogwarts yet?"

Harry stuck out his tongue. "Bite me."

Hermione laughed. "Come on Harry, I know how tired you are of being an Auror."

"Stop mothering me!" Harry called from the hall.

"Never!"

The door of 12 Grimmauld place shut as Harry exited and Hermione was alone in the kitchen. She held her empty tea cup for a moment longer, soaking in the familiar silence. Gently setting the cup down on the saucer she took her wand from her pocket, waved it and the cup went to the sink to clean itself. Hermione took two steps at a time up the creaky steps to her room. It was a lot smaller than her old bedroom in her childhood home, but comfy enough. Moving in with Harry was supposed to be temporary but things hadn't gone as planned. So, most of her stuff was still in boxes in other rooms in the spacious house. Unopened just in case she decided to move on a moments' notice. It was stupid really.

Hermione fell back onto her mattress and stared at her lone bookshelf. It hadn't made sense to unpack all her books at the time, so now there was only one bookshelf full of the books she had bought since moving and all of her textbooks on wizarding law. A pin board hung on the wall next to it, pictures and papers pinned in a haphazard order that only she could understand. Her desk, also overflowing with papers and folders of different colours, was pushed against the only window in the room. All her research on Malfoy's case was the reason for the current chaos on her desk and pin board.

Hermione neared her desk and flipped through a few papers. Most were in her own handwriting, notes and observations. Others were copies from transcripts. Technically, Hermione wasn't a lawyer yet. She was still writing her thesis. She would have graduated by now if it wasn't for the big writers' block she'd had for a year and a half. In her desk drawer was the initial mock-up of her thesis, the first twelve pages she finished before not being able to continue. "Prejudice and injustice in Magical Society" is the title she had given it. Although it had changed many times; "Progression of prejudice before and after The Second Wizarding War", too long. "Death Eaters" too vague. "Hermione sucks and can't make a title to save her life" something that came to her at four in the morning while slaving over the topic of her thesis. Instead of pulling that out, Hermione took a blank piece of parchment and wrote a note to Molly Weasley.

"Kreacher?"

"What can Kreacher do for mistress Granger?"

"Could you take this to Molly Weasley please?" Hermione said as kindly as she could muster.

"It would be Kreacher's pleasure," Kreacher said with an upturned lip, taking the note and then with a loud snap was gone again.

The house-elf still despised her, not as much as he once did, but it was still there. He didn't show it in front of Harry, being careful never to call her the m word. But his displeasure was obvious to Hermione when it was just the two of them. Neither Hermione nor Harry had an owl, so if they wanted to send a message it was easier to get Kreacher to do it rather than renting a ministry owl.

Hermione sat down in front of her desk and opened the blue folder buried underneath three other folders, all in different colours of course. It was Malfoy's initial file. It had a picture of him before he went to Azkaban, holding his prison number plate. Looking as haughty as he ever did in school. Five years in the prison had changed him greatly. Hermione couldn't even imagine how she would handle it.

"What am I going to do with you?" She asked the Malfoy picture.

Hermione held her handbag close to her body as she stepped back into interrogation room 2 the week after their first meeting. Malfoy sat in the same place, with the same stance and his hands restrained by chains on the table. Hermione wondered for a moment that he might as well have been there the whole week, he sat as still as a statue. When the guard closed the door behind her she gently put her bag on the table and took out a box of Tupperware and pushed it towards Malfoy, watching his face for a reaction.

"I brought you some food," Hermione said hesitantly, hanging her bag on her chair.

Malfoy looked at the Tupperware then back at her.

"It's stew," Hermione continued, reaching over to take the lid off. "Mrs. Weasley made it." Her voice had the same kind of sweetness to it like when she talked to Kreacher. Like when you tried to keep a very dangerous animal calm. "It's really good." Malfoy continued to be quiet and didn't seem at all affected by the wonderful smell that filled the room. "Come on Malfoy. Try to look at it like a peace offering…"

"No," he said.

"No?"

"No." Malfoy shifted in his seat. "I thought I made it quite clear last time Granger. I do not want your help or your 'peace offerings'."

"Could you at least try to be a little courteous to me?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "I thought I was being very respectful Granger, unless you want me to say what first popped into my head?"

Hermione pursed her lips and slammed the lid back on the stew and pushed it back into her purse. "Fine. Whatever."

Malfoy's lips twitched, as if he were going to smirk but then it disappeared. "Finally giving up? Admitting defeat?"

"You really don't know me at all Malfoy if you think I'm going to just quit after one bad meeting. I have tougher skin than that. We have nine weeks before your hearing. That's loads of time to make a case for your release."

"I could also just refuse to see you, make it harder."

Hermione huffed. "Actually, you can't. You have no say in that. These meetings are obligatory before a trial and I intend to use them all, and maybe even add extra."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You're doing this just to annoy me. Is that what this is? A little payback for the Hogwarts years? Taking Karma into your own hands."

"No, Malfoy. I'm not that spiteful." Hermione reached her hand deep into her purse fishing out a black folder and setting it on the table. "Let's just start."

"No," Malfoy said with the stubborn tone of a five-year old.

"Oh grow up Malfoy! I'm doing this case, I am going to be your defence attorney and you'll just have to deal with it."

"Do you have nothing better to do with your life? So deprived of ideas for your dull life you have to butt your nose into other people's business? How is life with the boy-who-wouldn't-die and his red-headed sidekick? All happily ever after?"

Hermione ignored him and opened the file. "I think our main angle should be the whole underage thing and negative influence."

"Ooooh, trouble in paradise?" Malfoy leaned forward. "Life must be hard having to put up with the ditsy duo, always having to hold their hands through everything and all, but you don't need to project on everyone else."

"We should probably start by talking about your childhood and your parents." Hermione continued. "How they were involved in the first world war and their views were passed on to you."

"I'm not talking about my parents."

Hermione tried to hide her smile, glad her bait worked. "Not talking about them is kind of impossible, seeing as they're the biggest reason you're here in the first place."

"I will NOT talk about my parents!" Malfoy shot up out of his seat, toppling his chair over and jangling his chains.

Hermione jumped back a little, caught off guard by his sudden outburst. His eyes struck her the most, almost deranged and she saw in him then what she had seen in the eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius Black on his wanted posters back in third year.

"Malfoy," she said, trying her best to keep her voice level. "Calm down."

He stood, still staring into her eyes with such fierce rage she wanted to look away. But this was a battle she wasn't willing to give up. She would not be the weak one. He would not win. Hermione fetched her wand, waved it and the chair behind him right itself again. His gaze moved to her wand and his face showed unmistakable greed. Hermione quickly stowed her wand away again and averted her gaze. Malfoy sat back down, the chain around his wrists jingling as it slackened on top of the table.

Hermione's hand shook as she pushed the papers back into the folder and closed it. She splayed both hands on top of it, forcing them to be still. She needed to gather her bearings, be professional. But all she wanted to do was run away and cry. She hadn't been yelled at like that in so long. She hadn't felt that threatened in… no, she couldn't go there. Not here. Not in front of him.

"I'll see you on Thursday," Hermione said, holding the folder to her chest and picking her bag off the chair. She didn't look back. Closed the door with a resounding _thunk_ and then forced her legs to stay confident and steady on her way to the fireplaces, preparing to floo home. Or to Grimmauld. As close to home as she had now, she supposed.

She took one step out of the floo in the living room and her leg buckled underneath her. Hermione dropped her bag and her hands slammed down on the floor. She groaned, more from the ache in her heart than the pain in her hands. She fought hard at the memories that pushed against her temple. Wanting to force their way through to the surface.

A throat-ripping scream tore from her as she saw Bellatrix above her, pushing the cursed blade further into her arm. Carving the hatred with her blood.

"Hermione!" Harry pulled Hermione up off her hands and shook her by her shoulders. "Hermione focus, you're safe. I'm here." He pulled her into his chest and she sobbed against his shirt.

"I'm not lying, I'm not…" Hermione muttered against Harry's chest in between sobs.

Harry stroked her back. "I know. It's over Hermione. She's not here. She's dead."

Hermione swallowed in between quick and shaky breaths. She nodded. Trying to force herself to believe his words. In her head, she knew he was right, that this wasn't real. It wasn't really happening again. But her body told her otherwise. Her forearm still stung from the blade. Her whole body shook from the crucio's.

Minutes ticked by as Harry comforted her on the living room floor. Stroking her arm or back or hair until her sobs died down and she slowly stopped shaking.

"Did Malfoy trigger this?" Harry asked, his voice strained but strong.

Hermione could only nod.

"Don't go back there," Harry said firmly. "What if I'm not home next time and this happens?"

"It won't," Hermione said, her voice weak and croaky. "I was just caught off guard."

"Hermione, come on."

"No Harry. I'm not going to let this control me. I will face my demons not flee from them."

"And if the demons are too much for you to handle on your own?"

"Then I have you," Hermione said, giving him a warm smile. "I need a bath."

"Fine."

Harry helped her to stand and then walked with her up the stairs even though she said she could manage it on her own. Ever protective. Finally soaking in the tub Hermione relaxed her limbs, feeling the satisfying tingle in her muscles. She hated her 'episodes'. Thankfully, she hadn't gotten them quite as frequently lately. They were few and far between. Time and therapy had really done her good. Maybe Harry was right. Malfoy might be too big of a trigger. Not only did he seem unhinged but he was also related to Bellatrix. Though the similarities ended there they were big enough to possibly trigger more episodes later.

So, the real question was: did she continue going, through pure stubbornness and embodying everything that was her Gryffindor courage? Or, did she call it quits, gracefully accepting that this would be too hard for her emotionally and tucking her tail between her legs like a defeated dog.

She knew which option she liked more, but was it the right choice? Most likely not.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Hermione bunched the fabric of her robes in her fist, holding it as close to her as she could. It was colder down here than usual and she would have complained except no one seemed to care. She was early this time and they hadn't brought Malfoy in yet. Holding her robe with one hand she spread out her files on the table with the other. Yes, she had a mental breakdown after their last meeting, but she was going to power through. No matter what Malfoy thought, or Harry for that matter, this was important. It wasn't just about Malfoy, it was about every other prisoner in Azkaban being treated unfairly and judged from pre-conceived prejudice. Hermione could see it in the eyes of every worker here: the hate and judgement every time a prisoner was taken to a room, or walked down the hall. That kind of thinking, where they weren't people anymore but just a number, just someone that deserved every evil in the universe because of the evil they had done; was poisonous.

A guard opened the door and escorted Malfoy into the room.

"Already here, Ms Granger?" The guard asked, surprised to see her there so early.

"Obviously," Hermione answered.

Malfoy sat down and the chains fastened themselves around his already bound wrists.

"I'll be just outside the door."

The guard left and Hermione stood quickly and waved her wand, soundlessly locking the door and casting a warming charm on the room.

"Thank Merlin, I was freezing." She took off her robes and hung them on the back of her chair. She was wearing a purple sweater and jeans. She had picked muggle clothing on purpose to see if Malfoy had any negative reactions to it. No, it wasn't exactly the best thing to do morally, as if he were an experiment. But she needed to know if his prejudices were still as prominent as they used to be. She had also decided to be exceptionally nice and hope for the best. "How are you, Malfoy?"

"Fine," he said, staring at the files she had spread out on the desk.

"Was your trip here okay?" This was, Hermione admitted, a very lame attempt at casual conversation. At least it got a reaction out of him.

"What?" Malfoy looked up at her finally and Hermione noticed he didn't linger on her clothes or anything, he hardly seemed to bat an eye at them, his gaze going straight to her face. "What are you doing here Granger?"

"Well if you've forgotten already, I am your lawyer and I'm here to try to get you out of prison."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant. Why are you still trying? What do I have to do to get you to give up?"

"There is nothing you can say or do that will scare me away Malfoy. I'm here for the long haul, so stop trying to antagonise me or scare me away, it won't work." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and jut her chin out.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Most certainly not." Hermione huffed. Annoyed at his childish antics. He seemed to enjoy irritating her. "Now, I brought you this." She put down another box of Tupperware in front of him and opened the lid. "I thought we could discuss this like adults over an amicable meal. What do you say?"

Malfoy stared at the food and, with the same blank expression looked back at her face, then lifted his chained hands and jiggled the chain. "What are you going to do, spoon-feed me?"

Hermione swallowed. "Actually, I was going to slacken your restrains so you could eat." This was the real test. Now, she definitely didn't trust Malfoy, but he was so thin and looked so malnourished she had actually thought about force-feeding him but thinking that just like a wounded animal would need to be coaxed to eat with trust and gentleness.

Malfoy didn't react, didn't raise an eyebrow, didn't seem shocked as Hermione had expected. He simply continued to stare at her.

"Well?" Hermione asked, feeling apprehensive and knowing that this was probably a very bad idea.

He raised his arms and Hermione hesitated a little before raising her wand and flicking it so the ring that held his hands stuck to the table opened. The chain was still fastened to the other end of the table so he wasn't going anywhere but now he had more leg-room. His wrists were still fastened close together, the handcuffs from Azkaban that kept him from using magic stayed on. At first, he did nothing, simply watched his arms raise a little closer to him than he had been able to before. Then his gaze fell on the food next to him and Hermione thought, for a blissful second, that he would start eating it. It was stupid for her to hope he would be civil.

Like a rebellious cat, Malfoy used the back of his hand to slowly edge the bowl off the table, making eye contact with her before throwing it to the floor. Hermione did her best not to show how incredibly pissed off she was and rounded the table to where the food was splattered all across the floor in an orange mess. She held tightly to her wand, flicked it to clean the mess and hover the Tupperware back into her purse. Actually, she felt like she was babysitting or a teacher with an exceptionally raucous student. Now she understood why Harry was so hesitant to apply for that teacher job. Malfoy continued to sit calmly in his chair, watching her movements. Hermione turned to him and took a step closer.

"Malfoy—"

He shot up out of his chair and without warning his hands were fastened around her throat. Hermione was shocked and stared into his grimy face as he tightened his hold. After less than a second Hermione realised what was happening, grabbed her wand and pointed it at his temple. Malfoy closed his eyes and Hermione felt him shiver. Hermione wasn't sure what was going on but his tight hold on her throat slackened the tiniest bit.

"Get off me," she said.

Malfoy's eyes opened again and he brought his face close. "Make me." His expression was almost pleading and Hermione realised that he wanted her to hex him. His shiver… He had gone five years in prison without a touch of magic. He was craving it.

"No," Hermione said, watching him.

His eyebrows scrunched together. "No?" His hold tightened and he pushed her further back against the table.

Hermione wanted to believe that Malfoy wouldn't hurt her, but her courage only went so far. Though she didn't think he would hurt her while they were at a stalemate, she also knew he craved the feel of magic. What could she do? She tried to think of a spell that wasn't harmful but would maybe let him feel magic. Hermione couldn't imagine how horrible it would be to live without magic for so long. Hermione settled on a scourgify for his face. Though it wouldn't clean him properly it would give him a taste of magic.

Malfoy closed his eyes when the magic touched his face. His hands around her neck slackened again while he basked in the feel of it. Hermione continued doing it, small bits at a time, aiming at a patch of dirt here and there on his face. His hands left her throat and instead steadied himself on the table's edge. When there was nothing more for Hermione to clean, she lowered her wand and simply watched him. Malfoy, feeling that she had stopped slowly sank back down in his chair and stared at the floor.

Hermione touched her throat and swallowed. It didn't hurt so that was good. Malfoy said something under his breath that Hermione couldn't hear. Cautiously she leaned closer to hear him.

"What?"

"LEAVE!" Malfoy bellowed and Hermione stumbled back, pushing the table and the feet of it scratched the floor. The chain rattled and pulled Malfoy off the chair and he landed on his knees on the floor. "Fucking… go."

Hermione watched his shoulders shake and realised he was crying. She didn't know how to handle this or how to go about it. She could leave, let him wallow in his own heartache or self-pity. Or she could stay and try to comfort him. Something she knew he wouldn't like or want. But… Hermione couldn't leave him there like that. She was a compassionate person. Hermione dropped to her knees on the floor beside him, hesitant to do much of anything. She was genuinely frightened of him. His outbursts showed how volatile he was, how unpredictable he could be. But he was still a boy, no, a man that had been shown discourtesy, shown nothing but contempt for too long.

Hermione reached out and rest her hand on his, but he snatched them away and shuffled closer to the table until he could lean his forehead against it. "Don't touch me." His voice was weak and shaking, but it held no malice.

"Okay," Hermione said, nibbling on her lip. "I only want to help you, Malfoy."

"I don't want your help."

"Why not?"

Malfoy closed his eyes and Hermione could see a tear try to spill from his eyes before he shook his head, his hair hiding his face from view.

"Please talk to me," Hermione said. "I know I'm just a… a mudblood in your eyes and not worth your time or whatever but—"

"That's not it Granger," Malfoy said, his voice raspy and harsh. "I don't… I don't think that way anymore."

"Then what…?"

He shook his head. "I don't want your help Granger because you've never failed at anything you've taken on."

Hermione furrowed her brows. "Why is that a bad thing?" Malfoy stayed silent and that's when it hit her hard and horrifying; Malfoy wanted to die. Hermione wanted to say something, anything to help him. To tell him that his life was worth something, that it was worth living, worth saving. But she could also see what he was feeling. Five years in Azkaban. Five years to think about what you've done, what you are to everyone you see, the horrible hatred in their eyes, the hopelessness of everyday life. Lingering on when you don't want to. What was appealing about that? "Oh." That was it, that was all she could say.

"I don't need your goddamn pity, Granger. And I definitely don't want your help."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Well too bad." She got up and hit his shoulder. "Get up."

Malfoy looked up at her indignant, his face was blotchy from crying. Hermione adamantly ignored it.

"I said, get up. You will not wallow like this. I won't allow you to."

"You won't allow me to?" He spat, pushing himself up, obviously uncomfortable with her having the high ground.

"No," Hermione said, straightening her spine and pushing her shoulders back. "I am your lawyer and obviously the only person capable of pulling you out of this depression."

Malfoy scoffed. "Don't act like you care Granger."

Now, Hermione allowed herself to look at him with pity. "But I do care." She shook her head. "Malfoy, despite all the horrible things in our past, I don't hold that against you anymore. We were all victims of the war, some of both wars. I've had five years to cope and learn to handle it. While you've had five years of seclusion with nothing but negativity thrown your way."

"You don't get to analyse me."

"I'm not trying to, or at least I'm just trying to understand. I'm trying to fight for what's right in this world Malfoy. I want to help those that need it and you do. No matter how much you want to deny it."

"There's no point Granger." Malfoy sat down in his chair again. "Don't let me tarnish your reputation."

"Reputation?"

"Yeah, your probably spotless list of won cases as a lawyer."

"Oh, that." Hermione felt guilty not telling him that she wasn't technically a lawyer yet. "I'm not worried about that. I spend my time thinking about more important things, like your case and how we're going to win it."

Malfoy sighed. "You are annoyingly stubborn, anyone mention that to you before?"

"Maybe a few times," Hermione said, with a small smile. She flicked her wand to move the desk to its original place and fasten his chains again. "It's gotten me through hard times. It will get you through yours."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Hermione walked down from her room to the kitchen at Grimmauld place and stopped in her tracks in the doorway. "Ron," she said. "What are you doing here?"

"You're not returning my messages."

"I've been busy."

"Aha," Ron said, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

Hermione put her briefcase on the kitchen table. She didn't need this today. "I'm working a case-"

"Ah a case, you mean the one you've been obsessed over for three years?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, and I'm not obsess-"

"You can't just ignore me Hermione. It's not going to make anything go away, not to mention it isn't healthy."

Hermione scoffed. "Is that what your shrink says?"

Ron's expression hardened. "It's what _our_ shrink said. You can't just keep running away from your problems we need to speak about this. Why didn't you answer my messages?"

"I told you, I've been busy."

"Harry has answered my messages and he's busy too, that's not an excuse Hermione."

"I have to go." Hermione picked up her briefcase and turned but Ron grabbed her arm to stop her.

"I can't believe I'm the one being practical here, that was always your thing." His tone was soft and his grip on her slackened. "Please Hermione, just talk to me. I don't bite."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I'm not comfortable speaking about my emotions, I need time to think and to figure them out on my own before I can voice them properly. Which I've mentioned before." She rubbed at her cheek and turned to look at him. His face was warm and so kind, she was hit with a pang of nostalgia in her stomach. What she wouldn't give to still be in love with this man.

"I don't want you to avoid me though. You matter too much to me to vanish from my life." Ron lightly touched her cheek. Hermione took a small step back.

"Please don't."

Ron let his arm fall down by his side and sighed. "Alright. Can we please talk about this?"

"Okay," Hermione said, resigned. "Tomorrow, I promise. I do actually have to go because of the case." she patted a finger on her briefcase. "I don't have a lot of time with my client."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Your client, right." He shook his head. "How's that going?"

"Not as badly as I expected… but not as well as I hoped either."

"Well," Ron said. "I know how much your work means to you."

Hermione tried to not let it sting too bad. How badly she had disappointed him. How hard they had fallen because of her. How aweful it was to watch him try so hard to mend what was irreparably broken.

"Goodbye Ron."

Hermione walked out of Grimmauld place, resigned to apparate and take the visitors entrance instead of the floo to the ministry. She pushed Ron out of her mind, just like she had done the past month and a half. Denial was her best coping mechanism. Ignorance was bliss, and it's amazing how easily the mind can decide what to ignore: feelings, memories, pain. When Hermione had gotten psychological help after the war, there were many things she sought help for. Her PTSD, the grief and insurmountable loss. She was told her biggest problems were not her fears but how she coped with conflict.

" _You bottle everything inside, it eats at you, but you ignore it. Ignoring it will not fix it, but help it create a larger hole within you."_

" _It doesn't feel like that though, it helps me get through the day. Like you said, take one step at a time, live in the now," Hermione said._

" _Yes, but that does not mean hide the past in order to survive the present. Face the past, face the present, so that the now and the future can be prosperous, thriving."_

Ignorance and denial didn't feel like what Hermione thought it would. She felt content in her everyday life focusing on her job, on the things she needed to do. It didn't feel like she was putting the things aside, hiding them, but simply removing what would cause her pain like depression and anxiety. Those things were bad, so why not push them away to be able to get out of bed in the morning? True, it wasn't healthy. But Hermione didn't know how else to handle it.

The ministry was bustling with people, as per usual. Hermione and Malfoy's scheduled meeting had been moved back to around lunch time, the note hadn't said much else as to why. Hermione tried to smile to the people that passed her, some she recognised as aquaintances who now worked at the ministry. She was so sunk in her work after graduation she hadn't kept close contact with her Hogwarts peers. Perhaps that had been a mistake. She wondered now what they were up to. But back then, she wanted her solitude. Being alone was difficult, but safe. She had Harry and Ron to lean on. Who did they have?

The elevator dinged and she stepped out, listening to the satisfying sound of her heels clicking on the hard concrete floor. There were more guards than usual and when she neared interrogation room number two, the guard stopped her.

"Not here, miss Granger. He's been moved to room nine."

"What? Why?"

The guard shrugged. "Mandatory for violent prisoners."

Hermione furrowed her brows. "Violent?" She marched on, her heels click-clacking as she hurried to door number nine. "What happened?" She asked the two guards that now flanked the door to the room.

"Prisoner Eight-Four-Seven attacked a guard and tried to escape." The guard grinned. "A pathetic attempt."

"Truly laughable," the second guard said. "How the mighty have fallen."

Hermione shook her head and pushed past them into the interrogation room, sealing the door with a bang and a charm before turning to Malfoy. His wrists were bound as usual, but the chains were shorter than before and now his ankles were bound to the chair. Malfoy's face was sallow, as before, but now there were dark bruises on his face. Looking closer, his arms were littered in bruises as well. He sat there stock still. She wondered if he were breathing. His gaze was glazed over staring intently at the chair opposite him.

"Malfoy," Hermione said quietly, approaching the table and setting her briefcase down. "What happened? You attacked a guard, why?"

A puff of air escaped him, as if he would huff an emotionless laugh. "Is that what they said?" His voice was worse than before. He raised his head to lock his gaze with hers and she noticed he had a cut lip.

"What happened?"

"I attacked a guard," he said his voice steady but robotic.

"Malfoy." Her stern tone made him look away. She stood, making her way around to where he sat knowing with how bound he was he would be in no position to even try to hurt her. "Why has no one treated you in any way after this?"

He scoffed. "Help a death eater? You're even more deranged than I thought."

"Let me," she said, kneeling down and taking out her wand.

"No." He turned his head away from her, shielding his face with his hair. "Let me rot."

Hermione took a moment to look at him, to see this broken man in front of her and wonder how she could possibly try to help him. How do you help someone who has given up on himself? How can you mend something so irreparably broken?

Cautious, Hermione reached her other hand up to move his hair from his face. Malfoy flinched when she barely grazed his cheek and she made sure not to touch him after that. With her other hand she aimed her wand at his bruises and did the best she could with the few healing spells she knew. Most of them she had learned for the horcrux hunt so many years ago. The bruises wouldn't disappear, the cut didn't mend itself completely, but the swelling went down, the pain would decrease. She was not a skilled healer but she had a feeling this was all the medical attention Malfoy would be getting and tried her best.

"What really happened?" She asked once she stowed her wand away.

Malfoy took a deep, gulping breath, and Hermione could almost see how submerged he had been and close to drowning. She needed to save him. She had to.

"They were moving me from Azkaban, and a guard pushed me out to the hall, where I stumbled and fell on a guard walking down the hall. He toppled over with me. They then pinned me to the ground, punched and kicked me for assaulting a guard."

Hermione took a breath and then moved back and sat down in her chair. "Tell me about it." She took a piece of paper and a quill.

"What, why?"

"We have to write down a report on this, it might help the case."

Malfoy shook his head. "They won't believe me. It's their words against mine. There are at least six witnesses to this, who I'll bet will all say the same thing."

"I'm writing this down Malfoy. Maybe it will help us in the trial, maybe it won't. But I want to be prepared for everything and this is going against the law. Tell me about it."

It was the first time Malfoy spoke for a long period of time and Hermione appreciated how rare that was. She wrote down his account of the events and noted down where he said his injuries were and then she documented the bruises she had fixed and the ones she hadn't known about until he told her. She tried to help with those too, but without dittany or a more experienced healer, there wasn't much she could do about a fractured rib.

Hermione left the interrogation room with renewed purpose. She was going to get Malfoy out of Azkaban, away from the predjudice he faced, away from abusive guards who took matters into their own hands. Nothing more than bullies getting their kicks out of someone in no position to fight back. Hermione had a fire. It left the usual tingling feeling of excitement in her gut. She had a goal and no one would stand in her way.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

It was quiet inside interrogation room nine. Hermione was periodically writing down specifics for the trial. Malfoy was silent, as was mostly his custom in these sessions. Hermione, though scribbling, was uncomfortably distracted. Half-way through a sentence she would stop and forget where she was going with it. Her mind kept wandering to her get-together with Ron the week before. It had been amicable enough, if amicable meant that no one resorted to throwing things at the other and expletives were nowhere to be found. They still disagreed about the ending of their relationship. Ron was understandably hurt, but he didn't understand. Hermione's feelings for him hadn't just vanished in a puff of smoke, so to speak. Over time they simply dulled into a numb kind of feeling. Kissing him, at the end, had felt the same as kissing a wall, or a pillow. It wasn't his fault, Hermione still cared for him dearly, even loved him, but it wasn't the same kind of love as it had been before.

Hermione sighed as she had to start another sentence over again. _My client was in a stressful state of mind-_ no, that wouldn't work. _He was coerced-_ hardly substantial at a trial.

"I'm sorry."

Hermione looked up slowly. Malfoy was in the same position as before; blankly staring past her at the wall, his mouth closed. She turned to check if there was someone else in the room, possibly apologising for intruding, but there was no one.

"Did you say something?" She said.

"I'm sorry."

This time she saw his lips move as he spoke, it hadn't been her imagination. Hermione set her quill down carefully, clasped her hands together in front of her, and tried to steel herself to all possible outcomes of this.

"What are you sorry for?"

His eyes finally focused on hers, though it still felt like he was looking through her. "For every ill will I did you in the past. Hexes, taunts… the bullying. I am- I regret it."

Hermione's mouth opened in surprise. She wasn't expecting this. She swallowed around the dryness in her throat. "What brought this on?"

"I've had a long time to think about my life, all the bad… only the bad. I thought I might try to clear some of it away since I can," he said, gesturing to her in front of him, and the chains bound to his wrists wiggled against the table. "While I still can."

She sighed. "Malfoy, you're not going to die. I won't let that happen."

"You've gotten far in your stubbornness before, Granger, but it won't help you now. I was stamped with a death sentence when they arrested me. No former death eater or sympathiser has survived going to Azkaban. I've watched them be taken one by one, the cells suddenly empty a week or so after a trial. There was no hope left for them, I'm no different."

"I'm not going to let you give up, this is your life we're talking about here," she said.

"It's not giving up, it's accepting your fate. The cards are stacked against me, the game is fixed, so there's no point in playing."

"No," Hermione said firmly. "I'm not quitting, it's not right what's happening to these people. And they are all still people. A fact everyone else seems only too happy to forget. Four cases before you have landed in favour of the ministry prosecutors, and yes two ended with the kiss, but we can break that streak." Hermione didn't add that she thought it was fishy how easily those cases had been won, and that something definitely smelled rotten when it came to the death eater cases. But she was determined.

"Having a hissy fit in court isn't going to help my case any."

"Excuse me?" Hermione curled her fist on the table. "I do _not_ have hissy fits!" Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her and Hermione straightened her back and tried to flatten her hair down a bit, gathering her composure and said in a calmer voice: "I do not have hissy fits."

They were silent for a moment. "But thank you," Hermione said. "For your apology."

Malfoy nodded. "You don't have to forgive me or anything-"

"Oh I'm not."

A tiny quiver on the corner of his lips, barely a twitch, but Hermione thought she saw a hint of a smile.

"Okay, good." Malfoy shook his head. "I just wanted you to know."

"Well, now I know."

"Good."

"Alright."

There was a knock at the door, nothing more than one rap and the door swung open. Mr. Trist stepped in to the interrogation room. Trist was a tall man, though slender. Hermione wondered he might look a bit like a leaf, if he ever quivvered in the wind he might topple over. She wanted to be that wind. Trist did not observe the room, did not look anywhere except at Hermione.

"Miss Gringer, a word."

Hermione pursed her lips and said "It's Granger," under her breath before getting up and stepping out with him. "What is it, Mr. Trist?"

"I'm required to ask you to make a report concerning prisoner eight-four-seven, seeing as he was moved to a high security interrogation room. You need to list any aggressive behaviours. Is he hostile? Has he shown any violent tendencies in your sessions?"

"Uhm," she said, thinking back to when he practically choked her on the table. "Not in my presence, no." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "And I feel like him being in room nine is a bit over the top."

"He attacked several Azkaban guards, you feel it's over the top, I call it necessity."

Hermione scoffed. "Oh please, we both know he didn't attack any guards."

"I don't like your tone, miss Gringer." Trist tilted his head to the side, as if she had shrunk down half her size and being scolded like a child. "These are quite the allegations. Are you saying that the guards lied?"

"No," Hermione said through pursed lips. "Of course not."

"See to it to finish making a report on the goings on in your sessions. I need it on my desk before next week, you know, for the evaluation." Trist grinned and his ever punchable teeth practically shone to mock her.

"Evaluation?"

"Oh, right, I forgot - you're not a real lawyer, a pity." Trist shook his head and sighed, quite dramatically. "All prisoners need to have a psych evaluation before their trial. So that we can determine how stable or unstable they might be in a courtroom. To take appropriate precautionary measures."

"I'll get you the report," Hermione said stiffly.

"Good." Trist turned around to walk away. "The cage takes two men to lift and I want at least two weeks notice."

Hermione wanted to yell at him, or throw things, but instead she settled for a very childish finger to his back as he walked away and sticking out her tongue. That man riled her up like nobody's business. She turned back to the interrogation room.

"Sorry about that," she said and sighed.

"A psych eval," Malfoy said.

Hermione sighed. "Yes, apparently so." She rubbed at her forehead. She had completely forgotten about that, and needed to make sure she didn't have any more slip ups. "But it's going to be alright, we'll have you prepared for it."

Malfoy shook his head. "They'll have me in a cage. All death eaters do their trials that way. My father…" he swallowed. "And others."

"But you weren't a death eater," she said firmly. "You were a kid, nothing but a pawn-"

"Stop it."

"What?"

"That's all bullshit. I was a death eater, end of story."

"Malfoy-"

"No!"

Hermione jumped a bit in her chair and swallowed. "Please, calm down, just-"

"No," he said forcefully, with a bite to his tone. A threatening sort of finality. "I bear the mark, I committed crimes, witnessed foul things that I didn't even try to stop."

"You would have been killed if you had tried to stop any of it," Hermione quickly shot in. "The circumstances were impossible."

"Well maybe I should have died then!" Malfoy shot up out of his chair, then jolted because of the bonds on his wrists and curled his lip up at them. "Instead of doing nothing." He janked hard at his chain, which obviously pained him. "Like a coward."

Hermione took a deep, albeit shaky, breath and then stood up carefully. Overly aware of how her legs shook by the memory flashing in her mind of him standing by as she was tortured on his living room floor.

"There was nothing you could have done," she said as calmly as she could.

He scoffed. "There were a million things I could have done, Granger. A million variables that would have meant more than just standing still and watching. As if I were nailed to the floor seeing these people be tortured, watching them scream, plead, and wish for any kind of relief. Watching them bleed on the floor."

"Stop, please."

"Watching them pay for the made up crimes plastered to their names because of a mad mans' idea of heritage, of royalty, of blood."

Hermione closed her eyes to the onslaught of images. Her hair splayed across the hardwood floors and the weight of someone pinning her down. She couldn't breathe, there was no room for her ribs to expand. _Please, please, I don't know anything, please_. Then a hot, manical breath in her ear: _liar_. And the searing pain splitting her every vein. The life being sucked out of her through a blade that scarred her arm forever. Hermione screamed the air out of her lungs, expelling all breath from her body.

In a flash two guards were in the interrogation room. One flew to Malfoy, grasping his arm and shoulder, pushing him face first onto the table and holding him down by the back of his head. The other came to Hermione to help her up. She was on the floor, how did she get there?

"Are you alright, miss?"

Hermione's breath was coming in fast spurts, her whole body was quaking. She glanced at Malfoy who was struggling against the guard who told him to be still and subsequently punched him in the back. Malfoy groaned but slackened his muscles to be still.

"Y-yes, I'm alright."

"What happened, did he attack you?"

"What?" Hermione looked at the guard, who held no compassion in his gaze, but stared with contempt at Malfoy.

"Get him out of here," the guard said and Malfoys' chains were released from the table and instead the chains around his ankles and wrists linked together and he was pulled up, a new bruise forming on his cheek.

"Wait," Hermione said weakly as he was escorted out with more force than she thought necessary. But it was difficult to speak, difficult to breathe. She'd had an episode. She needed to get back to Grimmauld.


End file.
